Now they're dead and they haven't done anything that they want. Or are they still alive and there's nothing left to do?
Ed McMahon was, of course, the Top Banana of all Second Bananas, a position he so rightfully earned at Johnny Carson's side, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't know him better as Dick Clark's co-host on TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes.
Farrah Fawcett, well, she was one of a handful of stars who absolutely typified the 70s, wasn't she? That poster, that hair, that smile... she was iconic, though again, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't actually a bigger fan of Cheryl Ladd when you're talking about who filled the blonde role best on Charlie's Angels ("Angels in Chains" notwithstanding).
Michael Jackson. Brilliant performer, and Thriller still holds up astoundingly well (even the part on the title track when Vincent Price raps). But I have a hard time reconciling my appreciation for his music with the whole "allegedly did bad things with children" rep... and let's be honest here, whether he was some sort of monster or literally a man-child who had no concept of the full reach or meaning of his actions, they were still bad things. Allegedly. If anything, I think what I've learned most from his death is how quickly both the media and the public at large will forgive, even canonize, someone who they would have vilified just the day before.
And just a little while ago, I read that TV's loudest infomercial pitchman, Billy Mays, died, which is weird because just last night Erin and I were watching him on TV and wondering aloud why he yelled so much when he could have just brought the mike in a little closer.
No point to all this, really. Just kinda parsing out what's in my head after a truly strange week of celebrity endings.